


It's The Sun In Your Eyes

by pikestaff



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood Elves, Character Study, Gen, This is vaguely angsty, alcohol mention, shinyforce my dear this is for you I love you so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8809417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikestaff/pseuds/pikestaff
Summary: Grand Magister Rommath and Lor'themar Theron get tipsy and have a heart-to-heart talk.  Possibly their first one ever.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinyforce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyforce/gifts).



> Birthday present for shinyforce who is the light of my belf fandom life <3

It had not been a particularly good week for Grand Magister Rommath. Probably because the vast majority of it had been spent in Dalaran, much to his chagrin. Normally he was able to get his duties to the Kirin Tor over with in relatively quick time and then retreat back to Silvermoon City, but now that the Legion invasion was in full swing he had ever more responsibilities.

There had been a time, once, long ago, when Rommath would have welcomed the chance to escape Quel’Thalas and see the outside world. He was a restless youth; a bird who felt, deep inside of him, that he had places to fly to. And indeed, he had spent collective centuries in other cities. In Stormwind. In the Capital City of Lordaeron. In Dalaran, far more so than any other place. And yet, just as a bird feels the tug to return home to its birthplace after the winter is over, so Rommath always returned to Silvermoon. The older he got, the stronger the pull was, until now every time he returned home he did so with a sigh of relief and a fervent wish that he’d never have to leave again— a wish that he increasingly feared would never quite come true.

So now that he was back home for a few blissful days, he had sequestered himself in a pub in a remote corner of the city. It was smaller and less known than some of the larger establishments such as Wayfarer’s Rest. This was advantageous in two ways: firstly it meant that he was less likely to be bothered, and secondly it meant that, due to his status as one of the few frequent visitors, the employees knew him very well and could cater to him quite efficiently. So he was in his usual spot and had already had several glasses of wine when someone rather brazenly sat down at his table. Rommath squeezed his eyes shut in irritation, then opened them again so he could properly tell whomever it was to please leave.

But instead he found himself staring at Lor’themar. “Mind if I join you?” asked the Regent Lord.

“Yes.” He did, in fact, mind.

“Good,” said Lor’themar, ignoring him entirely. “I could use someone to drink with.”

“Can’t you do that with Halduron?” Rommath asked.

“He’s on duty. Oh,” he turned to the waiter. “Suntouched Special Reserve, please.” Now he turned back to face Rommath, who was looking at him rather sullenly.

Lor’themar was dressed simply: a drab tunic and pants. This wasn’t particularly surprising; Rommath himself was wearing a simple robe. But the clothes showed off the regent lord’s form well: sinuous, taut, earthy, angular. A pointy face with a beak-like nose. He reminded Rommath of a bird of prey. In that regard he was the opposite of Kael’thas, who was flowing and smooth and ethereal. No, Lor’themar was the falcon to Kael’s phoenix. His drink arrived and he poured two glasses, one of which he pushed over to Rommath. “Drink up.”

Rommath wanted to retort something about already being drunk, but he couldn’t be bothered, so he took the glass and took a sip. The drink was bubbly and refreshing.

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked,” Lor’themar said after taking a sip of his own drink. “Let’s remedy that.”

“Must we?”

“What did you want to talk about?”

Rommath knew exactly what Lor’themar was doing. He was playing a game of cat-and-mouse with the magister, as he sometimes did when he was in a particularly cheeky mood. And the maddening thing was that, no matter what Rommath did, Lor’themar somehow always ended up being the cat.

“I’m not good at coming up with these… things…” said Rommath, his usual command of language slipping away with the drink. “You come up with something.”

“Alright,” said Lor’themar. “Dalaran then.”

 _Damn him._ “Why can’t you talk about how things have been here?”

“Aha, see? You’re perfectly capable of coming up with a conversation topic.”

 _Damn him to hell._ Rommath took another drink. The Regent Lord was certainly driving him to it, whether he that was his intention or not. “You certainly do enjoy seeing me suffer,” he said wryly.

“Nonsense,” said Lor’themar jovially, between sips of his drink. “Let it be known that Lor’themar Theron is kind to his friends.”

 _Friend._ That was a new one. “I don’t have friends,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” Lor’themar sounded amused by this comment, if anything.

“Indeed. I never have.” Rommath made a gesture with his hand, but in his intoxication the movement was more dramatic than he intended for it to be and he almost spilled his drink, so he set the glass down rather gingerly on the table.

“I believe Kael’thas would have said differently.”

Rommath stiffened suddenly. Kael’thas was, indeed, a person he had been thinking of rather frequently lately, no doubt due to all the time he had been spending in Dalaran. But he’d been hoping to get the late Prince out of his mind. “A professional relationship,” he said at length.

“Oh, is that what they call it now?” said Lor’themar, but then he laughed suddenly. “I’m sorry. That might be the drink talking already. For what it’s worth, Grand Magister, I consider you a friend.”

Rommath snorted. “You and the Ranger-General have been plotting to get rid of me for years.” He was only half-joking.

“We were at one point. But times change.”

And Rommath looked at the Regent Lord oddly. The inflection in Lor’themar’s voice hadn’t made clear how serious he was. Finally he realized that it wouldn’t surprise him whatsoever if he was, in fact, being serious. And he also realized if that was indeed the case, he hardly cared. They trusted each other now, anyway, and that was what mattered. But did trust make them friends? Did he even want friends? Did he have that much trust in anyone these days? He had trusted Kael’thas, once.

He realized now that he was putting far too much thought into this. He blamed the drink. He was wondering how to change the subject when Lor’themar changed it for him. “May I ask you something?”

“You’re going to anyway,” said Rommath.

He was. He was looking away, now, his eyes seemingly focused on some invisible point a few feet to the side of them, his long eyebrows pursed. “Can you stand the person you’ve become?”

“Excuse me?” Rommath asked, as though he hadn’t heard properly. The question was personal, intimate, and it caught him entirely off guard.

Lor’themar continued to look intently at that invisible spot to the side. “I am not who I was twenty years ago. Even ten years ago. I’ve done many things that I am not proud of. Sometimes I think I can accept it. Other times I’m not so sure. How does a person live with that, day to day? How do you become alright with yourself?”

Rommath made to blink but instead his eyes stayed shut. He squeezed them, as though his own memories were between his eyelids and he was trying to squeeze them away. When they stubbornly remained, he lifted a finger and rubbed them. It was no use, his own thoughts were intent on staying put.

Ten years? Had so much really happened in just ten years? A decade was so short when he had lived for hundreds of years already, and yet it felt like anything important that had ever happened to him had happened in those ten years. Kael’thas… no. He had known Kael’thas for centuries. But what he remembered about him now was what had happened most recently. Kael’thas, the resplendent firebird who soared and crashed and burned and rebirthed himself so many times before finally extinguishing himself for good. And where? In Magister’s Terrace, in the Grand Magister’s Asylum. A place where Rommath, and Belo’vir before him, and all the Grand Magisters of Quel’Thalas before them, stretching back thousands of years, had studied. Kael’thas had come to _him_ , to him specifically, and he hadn’t been there, and… _and_ …

Rommath was desperately trying to shove this thought out of his mind when Lor’themar said “I’m sorry. It was possibly an insensitive question.” Rommath looked up, and Lor’themar was looking at him with an eye that was surprisingly soft on that hawklike face. “And,” said Lor’themar, standing up, “I’m sorry for intruding. I’ll leave you be and—”

“I don’t.”

Lor’themar looked at him questioningly, raising one long, elegant eyebrow.

“You asked if I can stand who I’ve become, if I can live with myself. And the answer is… no. I don’t.” Rommath took another drink. He was staring off into nothingness, hoping that maybe, if he was lucky, the drink would make everything around him disappear.

Lor’themar nodded and looked the other way. “That makes two of us, then,” he said quietly. He was still standing, and there was an awkward moment where Rommath wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but then Lor’themar collected himself. “Well! That was a bracing talk. Thank you. I hope my intrusion wasn’t too unwelcome. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Rommath nodded and watched as Lor’themar left.

And the Grand Magister sat in silence for a moment as he turned over what had just happened in his mind a few times.

_A friend._

The Regent Lord had called him a friend.

Did he even deserve to be called such?

A spark in his brain. A phoenix soaring in his memory…

…he dashed it away. Kael’thas was gone. Lor’themar was here, though. And Lor’themar had come to him when he needed him, just now, and he was there for him.

And for now, and for the future going forward, that was what mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> http://pikestaff.tumblr.com


End file.
